Waffle House at Eight
by PepsiCola541
Summary: A small drabbly-type thingy I had on my mind- Annabeth gets a letter from a certain someone she hasn't seen in forever, after a long hiatus. AU.


_ (Sorry I've been AWOL- I've been grounded for my terrible Biology grade... I'm actually still grounded and won't be un-grounded until Christmas break. I wrote this so you wouldn't think I forgot about you guys. I think about you all pretty much every day. xoxox) _

* * *

_Dear Annabeth-_

_I doubted you'd read this letter, or even hold it in your fingers for very long, because you'd take one glance at the return address and want to burn it instantly. That is, if your angry passion for things is still intact like it was when we were children. So I decided to leave the corner of the envelope blank and moved on to the hardest part of sending you this letter- writing it. _

_Since you don't know who I am at this point- and I know you've already skipped to the end to see the sender's name, since I suppose you'll always have that infuriating need to know everything- you'll just have to read on. My identity will become familiar in time just as long as you be patient and read through it. You don't have to scrutinize every tedious detail- just take your time. _

_I want to start off saying that life for me is going fairly well since we parted ways at graduation (clue number one, Miss Drew- we went to the same high school). I'm an accountant at a good workplace, full of wonderful people, and you inspired me to work at writing stories- and publishing them- and guess what? I did it. I published a children's book. I want to tell you with all my heart what it is, but then you'd drop the letter, look up the title on Amazon, and instantly know who I was. So, I can't. But I will tell you this- it's not a great book. You'd cash it in as something not worth the amount of cash it's advertised as, and tell me that I should have worked harder, like you always did. Then, maybe, I might have gotten a better publisher so that everyone in the world may know my name. _

_ The thing is, though, Annabeth, is that I'm not meant to be a writer. You are. I'm not entirely sure why I wrote it; maybe it was to prove something to you, that I wasn't a deadbeat and that I could do something if I put my mind to it. _

_I bet you're finishing your next novelette pretty soon. I can't wait to read it. I can already see it- your face, elegant and poised, on the back of a novel, your hair shiny and perfect in Shirley Temple ringlets, like some sort of skinny cherub. _

_ I can imagine your scowl as you read that. Don't worry, Annabeth, it's supposed to be a complement. You're beautiful, no matter what you believe. And you of all people deserve someone better than most- meaning, not me. (Clue number two: I'm most definitely of the male gender. Although, on many occasions, you've said that I wasn't. Very funny, Chase.) _

_If you're starting to suspect who I am, please don't stop reading. I haven't told you what I really needed to tell you- I'm getting married next week. That's too quick. I didn't want to tell her (my fiancée) that I didn't want to get married so fast, only after a year of knowing her, but she's extremely pushy and has to have her own way about many things (she reminds me, in a lot of ways, of you. But mostly in the good ways). _

_The thing is, I'm not sure that I love her. I mean, I love her, but I don't know if I love her for who she is in every single way or if I love her for what she does for me. She's great at making friends and has a lot of them- a benefit to me and a curse, as well. I've become a bit of an introvert lately. I don't know if it's because I've found that I'm more comfortable alone than around others (what I want to believe) or it's because she's made me want to shrink inside my shell and close her and all her partying, drunk friends out of my life (what I suspect is true)._

_ She drinks a lot. She parties at bars and comes home to her apartment at two in the morning. I believe she wanted to get married to me as a way to quell her unquenched need for a room full of people and bottles full of alcohol. And I'm so hopelessly boring to her that I'm her 'ticket out' of her life. _

_ But sometimes, I really do believe she loves me. She comes after work sometimes and we go out for coffee. She loves music- she's a 'traveling DJ' (she's an unemployed DJ that works on the weekends when she can snag a gig)- and introduces me to new songs daily. She's very punk, actually, which surprises me further because I'm sitting here wondering how we managed to make our relationship work. I wonder why and how I began loving her. Did I decide to love her because I decided she needed me? _

_ I remember a long time ago when you told me something I never forgot. You told me to never be a martyr for someone who is, ultimately, going to be the one killing you. And I have a feeling- a slight feeling- that she is that person. She kills me a little more when she comes home in the early morning, utterly wasted, having gotten some guy I don't know nor have ever seen in my life to give her a ride. To my knowledge, she doesn't cheat on me. But she doesn't tell me anything. She just uses me for company. _

_ The real reason I'm sending this to you is not to tell you my problems for no reason- there is a big reason why I thought of you for this task. Even though we haven't seen or talked to each other in seven years, six months, and five days, I still and always will trust you unceasingly until I meet my end. So I'm asking you to do this simple thing for me- if you think that I should go ahead and marry her, keep this letter. Really, go ahead and burn it. And never give it another thought. But if you think I should let go of the marriage, forget about her, drive to the Waffle House two blocks from your apartment (don't be creeped out that I know where you live- after all, you've lived there ever since I helped you move in all those years ago so you could take college courses within walking distance.)_

_ You know who I am now, don't you? So swallow your pride and your anger. Help me one last time. _

_No, actually. _

_Drive to Waffle House. Our Waffle House. Yes, the one I've been going to every week for seven years, hoping to catch a sight of you so I could beg your forgiveness for all of my wrongdoings. I moved back, Annabeth. For you. Because I realized last night at midnight right before my fiancée came home that I could never love her because I already love you. I have always loved you. You never knew it, did you? You never suspected. You, the smartest person I know, the one who found Rachel Dare's pet hamster that she'd brought for show-and-tell in fifth grade in Travis Stoll's backpack when no one else could, the one who could calculate equations in a nanosecond, the girl I fell for ever since you offered me a blue crayon in kindergarten after mine broke, proclaiming that everyone should have the opportunity to be an artist, such as yourself. _

_I'm sorry, Annabeth. I'm sorry I left you alone seven years ago in your apartment after I promised you I'd never leave you. I'm sorry I didn't dry your tears or sing to you to make you crack a smile or just simply hug you to make you feel better. I wanted to be something great, and I wasn't. I left you, and I failed. I failed you in every possible way. And all I can hope for is that you may forgive me. _

_Go to Waffle House. _

_I have blue raspberry Koolaid waiting for you. _

_And a mix CD. _

_And a book. _

_Okay, not the book. _

_Come on, Annabeth, you know how much I don't like to read. _

_Even though I wrote a book doesn't mean anything. _

_Shhh. _

_COME TO WAFFLE HOUSE._

_I love you. _

_Too straightforward? _

_(I'm not sorry.)_

_(But I am sorry.)_

_See you at eight, Wise Girl._

_Love,_

_S. W. B._

* * *

She walks through the door. He sees her from the booth in the back, where he's sitting. And smiles.


End file.
